


OnStar

by raving_liberal



Category: Glee
Genre: M/M, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-09
Updated: 2012-01-09
Packaged: 2017-10-29 06:53:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/316958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raving_liberal/pseuds/raving_liberal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When a car accident leaves them stuck in a snowbank, Puck has to keep Kurt awake and warm until help can arrive. OnStar provides excellent roadside assistance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	OnStar

**Author's Note:**

> For the 2011 Chrismukkah Fest at [Puckurt](http://puckurt.livejournal.com)

Perception versus reality is a funny thing.

For example, here’s how long it takes for the car to slam into them from behind and for the Nav to crash into the car in front of them and ricochet sideways into a snowbank, airbags deploying: approximately 2.4 seconds. Here’s how long it _feels_ like it takes: long enough that Puck could have climbed out of the Nav and carefully pushed it out of the way across the ice and accumulating snow, then climbed back in and changed the radio station to something _not_ -Christmas while they watched the other cars play pinball with themselves and each other.

Perception versus reality, and reality _sucks_. Reality is Puck being thrown forward and then backward and then sideways like a rag doll, his shoulder slamming against the car door. Reality is hearing that sickening _thwacking_ sound from the driver’s seat. Reality is the red smear on the cracked glass of Kurt’s driver’s side window and Kurt slumped to the side of the rapidly deflating airbag that apparently failed to cushion him in the one direction he really needed it. Reality is the uncanny silence around them as the snowbank crumbles and covers half of the Nav, muffling any noises from the highway.

When the silence goes on too long, and Kurt doesn’t move, Puck calls out, “Kurt. _Kurt_!” He’s afraid to shake Kurt, afraid to _touch_ him. “Dude! Wake up!”

Puck hears a small groan from Kurt, then a mumbled, “What happened?” Kurt’s hand comes up and pushes the deflated airbag off his lap. When he looks over at Puck, his eyes are glazed and a line of blood trickles down the side of his face from his hairline. “Why’s it so white?”

“Blizzard on that side, snowbank on this side. We never should have been on the fucking road at all, but it hit pretty suddenly. Are you okay?” Puck looks around for something to hold to that cut on Kurt’s head. He knows head wounds bleed a lot and usually look worse than they are, but this one looks pretty bad, and something is definitely not right with Kurt’s eyes. Puck opens the glove box to look for a first aid kit or napkins or something, trying not to take his eyes off of Kurt, when he’s startled by a woman’s voice.

“Hello, this is Jeanette from OnStar. We received a notification of airbag deployment. Do you need assistance?”

“Puck, who’s talking?” Kurt leans back against the driver’s seat. “Who’s talking to you?”

“Hey! OnStar, yes! We do need assistance!” Puck calls out. “We had a wreck. We’re stuck in the snow and my friend is bleeding!”

There’s a brief pause and then the woman’s voice is back, sounding slightly apologetic. “We’re trying to dispatch emergency services to your location, but the roads aren’t passable right now. They’re trying to mobilize the equipment, but it might be awhile.”

“ _Fuck!_ ” Puck says, softly, as Kurt makes another groan and closes his eyes. “Sorry. I know you’re doing what you can, but he doesn’t look good. He hit his head and his eyes look weird. I think he might have a concussion or something.”

“Keep him awake and try to stop the bleeding,” Jeanette from OnStar suggests. “If you’re still in whiteout conditions, you need to stay in the car.”

“Okay, yeah. Look, can you stay on the line? Until someone gets here?”

“I can do that—what’s you name, sir?”

“Puck. Noah Puckerman. My friend is Kurt.”

“Okay, Puck. You look after Kurt and I’ll keep the connection open until emergency services arrive.”

“Kurt, hey Kurt.” Puck pats Kurt’s leg, maybe a little more roughly than necessary. “Kurt, you gotta wake up, dude.”

“Lemme ‘lone,” Kurt mumbles, cracking his eyes slightly. “My head hurts.”

“I know. You hit your head on the glass. You might have a concussion. No sleeping!” On instinct, Puck takes Kurt’s hand in his. It feels cold, way too cold. In fact, now that the first flush of adrenaline has passed, Puck realizes the whole car feels too cold. Of course it is; they’re buried in a snowbank and the window glass is cracked. Shit, shit, _shit_.

“Kurt, you got any blankets in here?”

“Mmm. Blankets. So tired.” Kurt’s eyes roll around a little and then start to slide closed gain.

“Not for sleeping! Kurt! Hey, knock it off, dude!” Puck jostles Kurt gently, and Kurt opens his eyes again, looking annoyed. “No sleeping. For the cold. It’s _cold_ in here!”

“My head hurts,” Kurt says again, and he flexes his fingers. “I can’t feel my fingers.”

“That’s because they’re cold. Do you have gloves? I think you were wearing some earlier, right?” Puck reaches inside Kurt’s coat pocket and Kurt jerks away slightly, trying ineffectually to swat at Puck.

“Gotta take a boy to dinner first,” Kurt mumbles, with that prissy little look he gets, and Puck chuckles a little despite himself.

“I’m just looking for your gloves, Kurt. Chill, will you?” Puck finally locates the gloves in Kurt’s pocket and slides them onto Kurt’s hands. It’s like putting gloves onto a little kid who hasn’t quite figured out where all the fingers are supposed to go, Kurt trying to help and only making it a longer, more difficult process. “Just be still, okay? I’m gonna take care of you.”

“Okay,” Kurt sighs, and relaxes his hands, letting Puck slide the other glove on. It’s a much faster process this time without Kurt’s assistance. Even the gloves aren’t going to be helpful for very long, though. Kurt’s jacket isn’t nearly heavy enough, his pants are laughable for this weather, and the temperature inside the Nav is dropping rapidly.

“Kurt? Blankets?” Puck asks again. Kurt narrows his eyes, like he’s having a hard time making sense of Puck’s words, but then it seems to click for him and he shakes his head.

“There’s a pashmina shawl,” Kurt says, his words a little slurred. “Bag in back. For Carole.”

“Better than nothing, I guess,” Puck says, climbing into the back and pawing through the small assortment of shopping bags until he finds something that looks like it could be considered a shawl, though whether or not it’s pashmina or any other kind of -mina, Puck really can’t say. It’s soft, anyway, and it’s at least moderately warm. Puck goes to drape it around Kurt’s shoulders, then frowns.

“We should climb into the back. It’s warmer back there and as far away from the windows as we can get,” Puck says. “Still with us, Jeanette?”

“I am, Puck,” Jeanette from OnStar answers. “Still waiting on some word that they’ve been able to deploy the plows. Has the snow let up at all?”

Puck peers out Kurt’s cracked driver’s side window. “Maybe a little? I think I can see another car out there. Might be the one that hit us. That’s more than I could see a few minutes ago, at least.”

“You boys doing alright? How’s your friend?”

“Cold. I’m gonna help him into the back seat and wrap him up in this... shawl-type thing. Cashmina.”

“ _Pash_ mina,” Kurt mutters. “Boys. I swear.”

“Sure, pashmina. Here, dude, let’s climb on back here.” Moving Kurt is a little like moving a floppy mannequin that occasionally comes to life and tries to help you help it move, but Puck is able to somehow navigate the flailing non-helpful limbs and get Kurt situated in the back sweat and wrapped in the _pash_ mina shawl. Even with the shawl, though, Kurt looks far too pale and is shivering hard enough that his teeth actually rattle, which Puck thought only happened in cartoons. “Okay. Definitely not warm enough. Shit.”

Kurt peers at Puck blearily. At least the blood has stopped flowing down Kurt’s head quite so much, Puck notes, then realizes that, shit, he’d meant to wipe that up before he got distracted by OnStar and concussions and gloves and all of that. There’s not a napkin to be found, though, and Puck has a feeling that Kurt—when he’s finally back to himself—might literally murder Puck if he uses Carole’s pashmina shawl thing to mop up blood. Instead, Puck take his sleeve and dabs at Kurt’s head, gently. Kurt makes a little hiss of pain, but holds still—a little too still, by Puck’s way of seeing, and sure enough, Kurt’s eyelids start to droop again.

“Uh-uh, Kurt,” Puck says, sternly. “No sleeping.”

“Just a little nap,” Kurt answers, in a soft voice. “My head hurts so much.”

“I know it does, dude, but you’ve _gotta_ stay awake. You go to sleep, you might not wake up.” Puck frowns as Kurt’s eyes close anyway. He takes Kurt’s hand in his and smacks the back of it, hard, a couple of times. Kurt’s eyes snap open.

“Ow! Hey!”

“Stay awake, dude! Don’t you dare die on me!”

Kurt glares, but he seems to make a concerted effort to keep his eyes open. He continues to shiver and glower at Puck as Puck tucks the pashmina shawl more tightly around Kurt.

“Hmm,” Puck says. “I don’t know that that’s helping too much. Okay, dude, don’t freak out. This isn’t a come-on, I swear! Just trying to get you warmed up.”

Puck unwraps the shawl and sits himself right next to Kurt, their sides pressed tightly against each other. Puck pulls Kurt against him, slipping one arm around Kurt’s waist and tugging him against Puck’s chest, then rewrapping the shawl around both of them. Kurt wiggles a little, but Puck thinks maybe he’s trying to get comfortable, rather than trying to get away.

“You still awake?” Puck asks.

“Mmhmm. Tired, Puck.”

“Yeah, I know you are,” Puck says. “Thanks for staying awake. I know this sucks. I’m so sorry I asked you to drive me. If I’d known it was gonna storm like this—”

“Not your fault you can’t control the weather,” Kurt mumbles into Puck’s chest.

“If I hadn’t asked you to drive me, this wouldn’t have happened.”

“‘Sok,” Kurt mutters. “Not mad...” His voice trails off and he grows very still, his head tipping forward.

“Kurt? Kurt!” Puck shakes Kurt’s shoulders carefully, and Kurt startles back awake. “Stop doing that! You’re freaking me out!”

“Did they forget us?” Kurt asks, in a tiny voice. “Are we stuck here forever?”

“No way! They’re not leaving us here. Hey, Jeanette? Jeanette!”

“I’m still here! Nobody’s forgotten you boys. They’ve mobilizing the plows now. Not sure how much longer. Is Kurt still in need of medical attention?”

“Yes,” Puck says. “Please tell them to hurry. I’m having a hard time keeping him awake. Kurt, stop it! Stop drowsing.”

“I’m not,” Kurt argues, without any real energy behind his words. “Just getting closer. You’re warm.”

“Oh. Okay, then. That’s fine. You be warm and _awake_.”’

“Sounds good,” Kurt agrees. “Talk to me.”

“Only if you talk back, okay?” Puck says, and Kurt nods against him. “So, uh, so... are you done with your Christmas shopping yet?”

“Hmm. Yes. No, wait, no. All but Finn.”

“He’s hard to shop for, huh?”

“No. I’m mad at him. He washed my merino sweater and it felted.” Kurt’s voice sounds a little better, stronger or something, like maybe he’s warming up or getting a little less loopy, or just that the whole sweater trauma is enough to perk him up. Or all three, possibly.

“That’s, uh. That’s awful. Yeah, the Hanukkah thing is definitely the easy end of the holiday spectrum. It’s a pretty small deal by comparison, really. We’re all, yay, bag of chocolate coins!” Puck snorts.

“I like chocolate,” Kurt says.

“I know, right? Chocolate is great and it’s pretty low-stress to buy. We eat a brisket, rugelach, latkes, all that stuff, and then on Christmas we get Chinese take-out. Easy-peasy,” Puck says, intentionally sounding a little smug. “It’s not palamino scarves or anything.”

“Pashmina.”

“Yeah, that.”

“It’s cold in here,” Kurt says, clinging to Puck a little more tightly. “I’m so cold, and I’m tired, and we’re going to die here in this snow.”

“No, we are _not_ ,” Puck says, firmly. “They’re gonna come for us. We’re on the Interstate and the don’t leave that locked down for long. They’ll get plows out here and an ambulance for you, and a tow truck for your car, and everything’s going to be _fine_.”

“I’m scared.”

“I know,” Puck says, holding Kurt a little closer and running his hand up and Kurt’s arm—  
just to keep his circulation going, of course. “We’re gonna get out of here, though. I promise.”

“You’re very nice,” Kurt says.

“Nah. Not really.”

“Thanks for not letting me fall asleep and die.”

“Well, I mean, I thought about it, but your dad and Carole would probably be pretty pissed at me,” Puck says.

Kurt giggles, then winces a little. “My head really hurts,” he says, “but I’m not feeling quite so sleepy any more. That’s good, right?”

“I think so. I mean, I don’t know that much about concussions, but I’m pretty sure you have one.”

“Something about how the pupils dilate, I think?” Kurt says.

“Well, your eyes looked pretty crazy earlier,” Puck says. “Maybe I should check them again or something? Your head’s stopped bleeding, anyway.”

“Small mercies,” Kurt sighs. “Here, check my eyes.” He pulls away from Puck enough for them to see each other’s faces, and Puck’s startled by the cold blast of air that fills the space between their bodies. Guess there really is something to that whole snuggling-for-survival thing.

Puck looks closely at Kurt’s eyes. They still seem a little shinier than they should be, but they aren’t wandering around all over the place and the pupils look pretty normal-size, the both of them, which Puck figures is a good sign. Kurt’s eyes are a pretty color, too, this sorta bluey-greeny shimmery sort of— _focus_ , Puck! Yeah, Kurt’s eyes—his big, gorgeous, sparkly eyes—definitely look a lot more normal than earlier.

“Puck?” Kurt’s voice interrupts. “Are _you_ okay?”

“What?” Puck asks, snapping back into reality. “Me? Yeah, I’m fine.”

“You were looking at me a little strangely. You aren’t hurt, are you? You’ve been taking care of me all this time, and I didn’t even think to ask—”

“I’m fine, Kurt. Seriously. Don’t worry about me.”

“You were staring.”

“You’re worth starting at.” Oh. Well. That’s out there now, at least. Puck waits to see how Kurt reacts.

“I think my head must be starting to get a little swimmy again,” Kurt says, with a nervous little laugh. “I’m just going to lean back over on you for a while.” With that, he wraps his arms around Puck’s waist and allows Puck to pull the shawl over both of them again. They sit like that, silent and entangled, for a long time, Puck willing his heart to beat slowly and normally. Kurt’s ear is _right there_ , after all.

“Your heart’s beating pretty hard,” Kurt says, after a while. “Are you sure you’re alright? No injuries?”

“I’m fine. Seriously, Kurt.”

“Maybe I should check _you_ for a concussion,” Kurt offers.

“I didn’t hit my head. Banged my shoulder a little bit when we hit that second car. And then again when we hit the snowbank,” Puck says, because now that Kurt mentions it, and now that Kurt seems to be doing a little better and Puck can relax, that shoulder is hurting a little. Or a lot.

“Do you want me to look at it for you?” Kurt’s voice is worried, and he loosens his grip on Puck’s torso. Puck hold Kurt a little more tightly in response.

“Nah, it’s gonna be just fine as soon as we get out of here. I’ll ice it and, I dunno. Elevate it?”

“Can you elevate a shoulder?”

“How would I know? Do I look like a doctor?”

Kurt makes a little humming noise of consideration. “No, you don’t, I suppose. Right now you look like a space heater or an electric blanket.”

“Noble callings, both.”

Kurt giggles. “I agree. I’d likely either be concussed to death or frozen to death by now, if it weren’t for your excellent choice of career in the warming arts.” As he laughs, he shifts against Puck a little, and Puck has to jerk his body back suddenly. Oh, that would _not_ be good. “Are you alright, Puck? Did I hurt you?”

“Uhh. Not, uh, exactly.”

“Not exactly?” Kurt makes the little humming sound again, thinking it over. “Ah. I see.”

“Yeah,” Puck says. “Sorry about that.”

“Though you know,” Kurt continues, “that would be one way of staying warm. I hear that direct skin-to-skin contact works a lot better.”

Puck sighs. “Dude, that sounds absolutely fantastic, but you’re concussed and I think maybe, you know, not making great life choices right about now.”

“I thought we established I was at least slightly less concussed by now,” Kurt say, swinging his leg over Puck’s, so that he’s half-straddling Puck, his head still pressed to Puck’s chest. The effect is a balled-up lap-full of Kurt, which is quite possibly the very best way to experience being trapped under a snowbank after a car accident, Puck muses.

“I’m not taking advantage of you in your injured state,” Puck says.

“Very noble of you,” Kurt answers, nuzzling his head against Puck’s chest. “How did I never notice how good you smell?”

“Because you aren’t usually in my lap,” Puck says. “Come on, Kurt. Back in your seat, okay?”

“Don’t wanna,” Kurt says, brushing his lips against Puck’s throat. “I feel _fine_. Well, my head still hurts a little, but this is helping.”

“Kurt,” Puck says. “Seriously. Please get back in your seat. I’m trying really hard to be good and this isn’t helping.”

“What if I don’t want you to be good?”

“What if I don’t want your dad or your step-brother beating the snot out of me because I molested you while you were brain-damaged?”

“I’m not brain-damaged,” Kurt says. “I’m _appreciative_ and more or less in control of my mental faculties. You probably saved my life, which is wonderful, as I quite like my life. You’re warm, you’re nice, you smell good, and I think I would really like it if you’d kiss me right now.”

“Kurt,” Puck groans. “I am _seriously_ trying to be good.”

“Well, that’s a shame,” Kurt says, sitting up so that his face is right next to Puck’s. “Because I’m trying exactly the opposite of that.” With that, he presses his mouth to Puck’s.

Puck knows he should stop Kurt, put him back on the seat next to him, because concussions and injury and nobody making rational life choices and all of that, but Kurt’s mouth on his is so warm and sweet, so instead, Puck pulls Kurt fully into his lap, palms splayed against Kurt’s back, and returns the kiss. Kurt’s body pushes against Puck’s, giving off so much heat that Puck briefly considers chucking the shawl-thing onto the ground. Puck slides one hand down Kurt’s back, cupping the curve of Kurt’s ass and pulling him more snugly against himself. Puck’s other hand travels up to the back of Kurt’s neck, steadying him and holding him in the kiss.

“Puck? Kurt?” a voice interrupts.

Puck pulls his mouth off of Kurt’s. “Not now, Jeanette. Warming up.”

Jeanette the OnStar lady lets out a little titter of laughter. “So I hear. Thought you might like to know that the plows are doing their work and the ambulance should be there in just a few minutes.”

“That’s, uh,” Puck says, punctuating his words with more Kurt-kisses. “That’s great, Jeanette! Thanks!”

“Happy to help. You want me to stay on until the ambulance arrives?”

“She’s been listening this long,” Kurt points out. “Guess if it bothered her, she could have hung up.”

Puck laughs and pulls Kurt into another kiss. Kurt wraps his arms around Puck’s neck—carefully avoiding any pressure on Puck’s shoulder—and returns the kiss forcefully, his tongue seeking Puck’s. Puck can hear sirens in the distance, slowly coming closer, but all he can really focus on is the way Kurt’s body is rocking against his, the low moan coming from one or both of them. As the sirens grow close enough to become ear-splitting, Puck pulls away and looks at Kurt’s flushed face.

“You’d better still like this _after_ the ambulance ride, or I’m gonna feel really guilty!”

Kurt giggles, and at the moment, Puck can see the ambulance pulling up alongside the snowbank, its lights flashing through the spiderweb of cracks in the driver’s side window.

“Hey, Jeanette!” Puck calls. “Ambulance is here! You totally saved our asses!”

“My pleasure, boys. Glad it made it there and both of you are in more-or-less one piece,” Jeanette laughs. “Thank you for using OnStar. If we can be of assistance in the future, please don’t hesitate to call. Have a nice day!”


End file.
